Spiral
by Riene
Summary: Spiral is set immediately after A Walk in the Bois, and is a very short follow-up to that story. Please read and review.


**A/N**—I wrote this late one night, after re-reading _A Walk in the Bois_.  It came to me in this one piece, and I offer it for review, virtually unchanged.  It's an odd little phic, I know.  Please read and let me know what you think.

**Summary**—This is a follow-up phiction, set immediately after _A Walk in the Bois_.  

**Spiral**

Copyright 2003 by Riene

The ceiling was every bit as uninspiring as were the walls.  Erik reoriented himself in the padded casket, staring out into space, his thoughts too intense, too whirling for sleep.  Christine lay just down the hall, curled up in her bed, oblivious to the tormented thoughts of the only other living soul in this underground demesne.

He had risen from the ornate coffin several times in this night to check on her, worried about her ankle, testing to be certain the bandaging was not too tight.  He had donned the mask each time, fearing her reaction should she see him in her room bare of face, attired only in his dressing gown.  

The thought of how she might misconstrue his concern over her well being caused Erik's face to flush.  Though he longed to caress her, to embrace her, Christine was not, and might never be, his to care for.  Tonight, it was more difficult than usual to sleep, and his thoughts spun round on themselves.

With a sigh he rose, wrapping the somber robe about the nightclothes he wore only when Christine was in the underground house, and assumed the mask again.  He walked quietly from his room and down the long corridor toward the kitchen, brewing a cup of tea, and carrying it out to the music room.  Erik sat, the delicate porcelain cup cradled between his extended fingers, staring into the coals, and thinking.

Christine sat up slowly, easing the tender foot up toward her hands.  She flexed it experimentally, testing the range of movement, and winced.  Though not nearly as painful as it had been, the ankle was still sore, and she doubted she would be able to walk on it by morning.

Lying back against the smooth linen sheets, Christine tugged the blankets back up around her shoulders for warmth, frowning slightly.  There had been the oddest dream, the impression that Erik had somehow been in her room to check on her, though she did not remember calling out for him.

He had walked quietly, that noiseless tread of stealth and concealment, afraid of awakening her, and opened the door slowly.  The flame of the single candle she had left burning flickered in the sudden draft of air, casting wavering shadows along the paneled walls.   When she did not stir, he stepped in, angling his lean body to the concealing shadows along the wall by the deep armoire.  Erik stood looking at her in wonder.  His angel lay sleeping on her side, loosened curls spreading out across the pillow, her sweet, innocent face pale with deep sleep, her hands lying tucked under the pillow like a small child.  He caught his breath in sudden, blinding adoration, and found himself reaching toward her one trembling hand.

_What are you doing, fool?_ the voice sneered inside his mind.  _You are a monster, a walking nightmare horror, and you will terrify this poor child should she wake and find you here._

Slowly, unhappily, Erik let his arm fall back to his side, contenting himself by watching over his beloved as she slept.  What must it be like, he wondered wretchedly, to be so fair, to look in the mirror and not recoil, to not glimpse morbid curiosity or fear on the faces of strangers in a crowd as you passed by?  He shook his head; he would never know.  His deeds and his past were as black as his future, yet he could not conceive of an alternative to this bleak, lonely existence but through her.  Could she but learn to see the gentle suitor, the angel of music behind the mask, she could perhaps grow to love him, and free him from the bondage of this eternal hell.

Christine stirred slightly under the coverlet, murmuring softly, her lovely voice musical even in sleep, and Erik's heart twisted within him, even as he shrank back into the shadows.  No, she would never learn to care for him as a man, for no one ever had.  

Erik waited until he was certain she was completely asleep again, before venturing out of the protective darkness toward her.  Keeping his eyes averted from her still form, he reached carefully under the covers and waited, heart pounding, until his cold fingers gained a bit of warmth.  He tested the edges of the bandages to see if they had loosened in the night, and felt her foot to check the swelling and circulation.  Quickly Erik withdrew his trembling hands; certain now that all was well, and retreated again to the shadows.  His burning eyes, full of longing and despair, rested upon the still form of the woman in the bed, and his hands twitched restlessly, his body clenching hard with sudden, crushing desire.  Taking a deep, shaking breath, Erik turned away, forcing himself to vacate the sanctity of the Louis-Philippe room, lest these cravings, these paroxysms of need overwhelm his precarious control.  Blindly, he stumbled back to his bedchamber, to fall into the casket and stare at the ceiling high overhead.

The ceiling was every bit as uninspiring as were the walls.  Erik reoriented himself in the padded casket, staring out into space, his thoughts too intense, too whirling for sleep.  Christine lay just down the hall, curled up in her bed, oblivious to the tormented thoughts of the only other living soul in this underground demesne….

Please review….


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